


Molly Hooper, the Girl Who Counted

by blueboxonbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:24:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboxonbakerstreet/pseuds/blueboxonbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The coppery taste of blood was the first thing Sherlock noticed when he came to. </p>
<p>The second was that he was tied to a chair in the middle of a large warehouse, his hands bound behind his back. Only one, lone light bulb hung directly above his head, illuminating several yards each way before the darkness took over, concealing the rest of the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Molly Hooper, the Girl Who Counted

The coppery taste of blood was the first thing Sherlock noticed when he came to.   
The second was that he was tied to a chair in the middle of a large warehouse, his hands bound behind his back. Only one, lone light bulb hung directly above his head, illuminating several yards each way before the darkness took over, concealing the rest of the room.

There was no one around as far as he could tell, but his brain was still fuzzy from… what had happened? The last thing he could remember was jumping off of the roof of St. Bartholomew’s hospital, one of the men on the ground bracing his fall and adding blood to his face in an attempt to aid him in looking dead for John.   
John.  
His head started to spin at the thought of his (now former) flatmate. However, he pushed the feeling down, swallowing hard and focusing on the matter at hand.   
He’d been carted away into the hospital by several men and women hired to help and was supposed to meet Molly inside so that she could...  
Oh.  
Molly.   
Perhaps this was where she had in mind when she said she had a place for him to hide out for a while. But that still didn’t explain the ropes binding him.   
“Molly?” He tried calling, his temple throbbing. He must have been struck with something- knocked unconscious- but with what? When? “Molly?”

“Oh, keep your knickers on,” A familiar voice sneered from the shadows. Before Sherlock had any time to react, Molly Hooper stepped forward into the light, a malicious smirk on her face. For once, Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words. He gaped at the pathologist, his brain still foggy. “Glad to see you’re awake, hm? You’ve been asleep forever. I say asleep… it wasn’t a very peaceful rest, was it?” She laughed. However, the noise sounded strange coming from Molly. It was as if something had sucked all the warmth out of her usually cheery voice. As she stepped closer to Sherlock and more into the light, he realized that she looked nothing like the Molly Hooper he knew. Instead of her usual flowery jumper and loosely fitting khaki pants, she wore a fitted, black pencil skirt paired with a silky, white top, accentuating her curves that had formerly been lost in all the layers of baggy clothing. Her hair was pulled into a tight, elegant bun on the top of her head, her face painted with more makeup than he’d ever seen on her.   
“Do you like it?” Molly asked, noticing Sherlock’s attention to her appearance. She gave a small twirl, her black pumps clicking on the cement. “I just hated wearing those frumpy jumpers. This suits me much better, don’t you think?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Molly Hooper.” Sherlock said finally, fighting to keep his voice steady despite his confusion and the pain in his head. “You’re-“

“Oh, please, do call me by my real name,” Molly interrupted, waving a hand casually. “Moriarty.”   
Sherlock’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open slightly before he even realized what he was doing. Moriarty chuckled, beginning to circle Sherlock’s chair, the sound of her footsteps echoing throughout the warehouse.  
“Surprised? You didn’t think that little Jimmy was your real ‘nemesis’, did you? Oh, what a peach. He was just doing what I said. In case you were wondering, and I know you were, he really is just an actor. A damn good one, seeing as he even fooled the great Sherlock Holmes.” She paused in front of him, raising an eyebrow, a malicious smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. “I say ‘great’,” She added. “But you’re not, are you? You’re just an ordinary person, like all the rest. Although you think yourself immune to sentiment, we both know that’s not true, hm?” Moriarty bent down slightly so that her nose was nearly touching Sherlock’s. “You jumped off that roof without a hesitation once you knew your friends were in danger. Asking innocent little Molly for help was a nice touch. I always counted, right?” She gave a cold, high pitched laugh, straightening back to her full height.   
Sherlock was silent, pushing past the pain and the fuzziness in an attempt to comprehend everything that was going on.   
“Oh, I know that face,” Moriarty said excitedly, clapping her hands together. “You’re trying to make a deduction, aren’t you? Oh, so _adorable_. Go on, then. What’s the greatest mind of our time coming up with?”

“You hired Jim to be your face so-…so that I wouldn’t ever be able to get close to you. But the ruse of Molly Hooper was clever- you allowed me-…you allowed me to trust her while at the same time you were able to get all the information you needed at the drop of a hat.” Sherlock said quickly, closing his eyes as he spoke in an effort to concentrate on his words. 

“Very good!” Moriarty applauded, a cold, broad smile on her bright red lips. “I’m afraid I did start to slip now and again. However, the good thing about disguising yourself as a silly little girl is that if you slip up, you’re just written off as a silly little girl!” 

“Why?” Sherlock asked after a moment of heavy silence. “Why go through all this trouble?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Moriarty scolded, waggling her finger at Sherlock. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You think you’re going to get my ‘evil plan’ out of me and then escape with the information. But don’t worry, you’re not going to get a word out of me. You’re also not going to escape, so you can stop scanning the room for exits. Your chair is bolted to the ground and there’s no one here to help you.” 

Sherlock glared at her, gritting his teeth. “If you’re not going to let me leave, why wouldn’t you tell me what this is all for? Afraid you might slip up?” He challenged. 

“No, no,” Moriarty shook her head, taking a few steps forward towards the consulting detective and slipping into his lap, all in one fluid motion. “I just don’t want to give you the satisfaction. There’s only room for one genius in the world.” She whispered, brushing her lips against his before pressing them to his cheek, leaving a bright lipstick mark. “And I am sorry about this. I was really starting to like you.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a full syringe, uncapping it and tossing the plastic cover away. Running her finger down the needle, she watched Sherlock’s expression as realization of what was about to happen dawned on him. “Any last words?” 

“John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson. What are you going to do to-” Sherlock started, his voice calmer than it had been since he woke as he prepared himself to the inevitable. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Moriarty purred. “Once you’re out of the way, frail, little Molly Hooper will become so overcome with grief at your death that she’ll move far, far away from London, never to return. As long as they don’t meddle, your friends are safe. I’m not a _monster_.” She giggled. 

“What is that?” Sherlock ventured, staring at the needle.   
Moriarty hesitated for a moment before shrugging, holding the syringe up to Sherlock’s eye level. 

“Pancuronium bromide,” Moriarty informed him before withdrawing the chemical. “Lethal at a dosage of 100 milligrams. However, it’s not a paralytic, so, unfortunately, once it’s injected, you will feel all of the effects.” She shrugged, giving him a sad smile. “But, what can you do?” She raised the syringe to her lips, giving it a small kiss before reaching out and plunging it into Sherlock’s neck, releasing the chemical slowly. As soon as the tube was empty, she withdrew it, tossing it aside and standing, straightening out her skirt. “Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. It really _was_ a pleasure.” 

And with that, she was gone, her high heels clicking against the pavement, a wide smile on her face as a groan of pain sounded from the former consulting detective behind her. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, I love me some Dark!Molly! (Or should I say Moriarty, hm?)   
> Dedicated to Swetha who is awesome and pretty much inspired this story from one of our conversations forever ago! Love you, girl!


End file.
